


The Process of Mourning

by LilithsLullaby



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reader-Insert, Smut, Spoilers, angsty sex, healing through sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 00:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilithsLullaby/pseuds/LilithsLullaby
Summary: **INFINITY WAR SPOILERS**Following the tragic fallout of Thanos’ actions, the remaining few are left to grieve, to mourn. And one Avenger is reunited with a lost love in order to heal, in his own way.





	The Process of Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a sort of therapeutic piece to help myself cope with the horrifying outcome of Infinity War. I will continue to work on A Righteous Disguise soon but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this little number.

This is the eye the storm, you remind yourself. Just the dreadful calm before the next wave of destruction. The next play of sacrifice and stolen good byes. But it is the only serenity you have left to cling to. The world is healing, regrouping after Thanos’ actions laid waste to half the universe. Brothers, daughters, lovers. All gone in the blink of an eye.

You watched as your colleagues slowly vanished around you. Eyes held to yours in fear and denial just before turning to ash, quickly carried against a distant breeze. And you fell to your knees, your whole body shaking, preparing for the inevitable. To watch your own body turn to dust. But death never came. Only survivor’s guilt.

You had been left as one of the remaining few. The lucky and the cursed. And when your phone rings an hour later, you can barely manage to collect yourself, to form the motor skills to answer it. However, when you see the number listed as ‘restricted’, you will yourself to move.

Lifting the phone to your ear, you hear your name softly spoken from the other end of the line. A familiar voice. A friend. A comfort in these end times.

“Nat,” you answer in an exhale, full of relief and sorrow. You fall down against the couch in the office lobby, clutching to your forehead. “Thank God. You’re alright. You’re...What happened? Is everyone okay? Is Steve...”

“He needs you.” It’s all she says. It’s all she needs to say before you are demanding where they are.

_He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive._

She tells you a jet is being sent to your location and you use every last energy reserve to bolt to the roof, equipped with a helipad. You stand there, staring up at the tranquil blue sky, searching for your rescue, letting the sun beat down upon your face and scold your cheeks. Uncaring, unperturbed. They are going to take you to him. To Steve.

It has been two years. Two years since you last saw him smiling, happy, his hand resting on your shoulder. Two years since they told you he had deflected, vanished into the greater unknown and renounced his heroic name. Two years since you told yourself perhaps you’d been delusional in thinking it was love you felt brewing between you. If he could so easily leave you behind, it must have all been a lie.

_He needs you._

You clinch your hands into fists, refusing to dwell. It doesn’t matter now. The past doesn’t matter. Only the present, in which he is alive and waiting for you.

You were always the one that Steve turned to, and Nat knew that. After particularly hard missions, he’d stumble into your room, late in the middle of the night, when you were half awake and dreaming. He’d fall to the floor at your feet, letting you stroke his hair for hours. Not a word spoken between you. Sometimes you’d just cradle him atop your bed, curved against his body as you willed him into a restful slumber. That was what your relationship was. A give and take. And you, the sole giver. The one to soothe his ache. To absorb his pain into yourself.

And in those nights alone with him, you often wondered if he needed more from you. More physically to relieve his pain. But you never gave yourself the opportunity to press the possibility.

When the jet finally arrives, you barely speak to the pilot, climbing in through the open hatch and buckling in. You fly for hours, toward an unnamed destination, all the while staring out the small portal to your left. The ocean below turns into the grassy planes of the savannah. And you watch as plane soars through the cover of trees, emerging unscathed on the other side, in the mysterious land you knew as Wakanda. The ground beneath you is littered with the dead, friend and foe alike, with survey crews collecting bodies to mourn and bury. You look away, afraid to bear witness to the aftermath of a battle Steve had to endure. Had to survive.

The jet lands carefully in front of the tattered palace. There would be no welcoming committee. No escort. You step out and watch as the jet quickly ascends behind you, leaving you alone with your beating heart to keep you company. So you step through the entrance and wander aimlessly until you stumble upon them, all collectively gathered in an open meeting room. A large expansive window behind them overlooks the blood stained savannah. They are holding conversation in slow, low whispers, as if none of them can manage to speak fully of the horrors they had just witnessed, but fearing silence as the alternative.

There are a few faces you do no recognize, but amongst them is Nat leaning up against a wooden pillar, Bruce hunched over in a chair in front of her. _Bruce...He’s actually here, alive_. Thor is on the other end of the room. Silent and frozen. And the unmistakable form of Steve is leaning up against the glass pane, his eyes held down below.

You enter into the room cautiously, one step at a time. Nat is already speaking, discussing a potential plan to regroup. However, she is the first to see you and immediately, her mouth hangs open, mid sentence. But you can barely look at her, your eyes held to the ghost of a man that you once loved. That you still love so hopelessly.

“Steve,” you breathe and watch with widening eyes as he slowly turns to look at you.

He looks much more rugged than you remember. His hair is grown out and unkept and a scruffy beard ordains his chiseled chin. But it’s his eyes that truly break your heart. Red and swollen from tears that have long since been shed. The crystalline purity you once admired in his gaze is now replaced with a regrettable hardened horror you wish to erase from his eyes. However, it is a stain that can never be removed.

His lips move, and you could swear that he vocalizes your name, but his voice is so low, so guarded. His muscles tense beneath his uniform, torn and splattered with blood that is both alien and human. But not his own. He takes one step forward, but not another. And you see in his wide eyes what you’d been dreading.

Relief and regret, swirling into one putrid emotion.

But you don’t waste a single second pondering what he could be thinking. You run toward him, colliding with full force into his wide, burly form. You wrap the expanse of your arms around him, burying your face into his hard chest. And without realizing it, you begin to cry, sobbing into his uniform as you mumble incoherently.

For a moment, he says and does nothing, his arms held out to either side of your body, awkwardly. But the moment you say his name again, a whisper muffled against his body, you finally feel his arms come up to wrap around you, pulling you closer. He is trembling too, you realize, with a deep tremor that seems to originate from somewhere inside his broken soul.

“You aren’t angry with me?” He asks in a whisper.

“Why would I be angry?” you reply into his chest. “All I care about is that you’re alive. That you’re safe... that you’re here.”

“I’m here.” His voice is shaky too as he grips onto your shoulders, prying you slowly away from his chest. “But I never meant to leave without... I didn’t... I wouldn’t have...”

You shake your head, reaching up to cradle his cheek within your hand, willing your tears to cease. He immediately leans into your touch, his own tears cascading over your fingers.  
You need to be strong for him now. That’s why Nat called you here. For him. To be his strength in this dark hour.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reassure. “Nothing else matters now.”

He reaches up to hold your hand firmly, kissing the inside of your palm. The intimacy of his touch makes your skin flush. And while the two of you had danced around a sexual tension for years, you never made a single move toward satisfying that desire. Until this single kiss upon your hand.

He begins to say your name in a husky whisper when Nat calls out from behind you. You turn to greet her, pulling reluctantly away from Steve. Though his hand holds firmly to your elbow, to keep you close and to keep himself steady. To keep himself from tearing apart in front of you.

“What’s the status at S.H.I.E.L.D.?” She asks, her voice laced with hope and concern. You interlock your fingers in through Steve’s, squeezing firmly.

“Both Fury and Hill are missing,” you reply. “Half our agents gone... and no word from Clint.”

She barely nods.

“Who...” you start to say, but as you look around the room, noting the missing faces you would have expected to see standing there beside you, you silence yourself. This is all that is left of the defensive team.

_Bucky. Sam. They aren’t here._

You turn back to Steve, your eyes dancing over his soiled uniform.

“We should get you into some clean clothes,” you whisper. “A shower might do you some good too. And you all need to rest.”

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes glued to your hand locked in with his. He rubs his thumb mindlessly into your palm.

“Is there somewhere we can...”

“Second door to the right,” an unknown woman says bluntly. A native to Wakanda. Her face is torn by anguish, but beautiful despite her apparent pain. You nod in appreciation and pull Steve silently from the room. But first, you stop long enough to give Thor a firm squeeze on his shoulder in greeting. He tries to smile, the way he always does, to grin despite his pain. But his lips quiver and he turns away before you can say anything more.

You find the guest room and lock the door behind you. You would need your privacy for a little while, to calm Steve enough toward a state of normalcy. The room is equipped with a bathtub and stacks of fleshly pressed shirts and pants, waiting for Steve. As if your foreign hosts knew what he would need before the battle had even begun.

Steve is silent as he falls heavy against the bed, holding his head in his hands. You can hear his breathing, deep and tentative. You fall to your knees in front of him, reaching up to gingerly touch his fingers.

“Hey,” You whisper softly. “Look at me.”

You gently pull his hands away, to caress his rough skin. To trace lines up the planes of his neck. And when you reach back up to his face, your fingertips hovering near his lips, he turns and kisses your hand again. As if savoring the way your skin feels against his lips. And his eyes meet yours. Still stained with the threadings of bright red veins. Portraying a pain that would not easily be healed. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps never.

“I’m so sorry,” is all you can manage to say as you gaze up at him, watching as he continues to caress your palm with his soft lips. “I wish... I wish I’d been here with you.”

He pulls away abruptly.

“No,” he replies sternly. “I’m glad you weren’t here. I couldn't risk losing you too. I’ve lost too much already... not you... not you too.”

His hand grips firmly around your fingers, clenching down, but he unable to stop the tremors from coming through his body.

“We will find a way to bring them back,” you say, though you choke on the words, hardly believing it yourself. “We will find a way. We always do.”

“And if we don’t?” He asks, his eyes burrowing into you. “What if we can’t bring them back?”

You reach around the back of his head to course your hands through his new, thick mane of hair, to thread your fingers through the long strands. You massage his scalp, until he leans back into your hands with a deep sigh.

“Then we live,” you reply. “We live for all of them. That’s all we can do.”

“Tell me how can I possibly live when I just watched them die,” he pleads. “I just stood by and watched as their bodies turned to dust. But there was nothing I could do. Nothing.”

You stand suddenly, positioning yourself between his parted legs. You pull his face close, to your rest against chest. You urge him, with the stroke of your hand, to listen to your heart, to feel the way your lungs expand with air, and subsequently deflate. The steady rise and fall. Hoping the rhythms of your body can soothe him, calm the ache of his heart. You press your bodies close together, as close you can manage. Leaving no space between you for fear to take root.

“I know, Steve,” you say, stroking his hair. “I know.”

His arms reach back around you, clutching desperately to the flimsy fabric of your blouse, pulling hard. You hear it tear beneath his grasp but you don’t care. Nor do you care about the subsequent pain that tears through your flesh as his nails find their home, buried to either side of your spine.

“You don’t know,” he growls with the hints of boiling aggression. “You weren’t here. You don’t have anything idea what it was like.”

“No, I don’t.” Its all you can say, biting your lip in fear of the beast you’ve awakened. His grip tightens against you and you wince, but continue to hold steady. “I’ll never truly understand what you are feeling.”

_I have to stay strong for him. I am his relief. That’s why I’m here._

“I imagined you were there, you know,” he admits after a moment of silence. “I imagined having to watch you disintegrate in my arms, to feel the weight of your body evaporate. Until you were nothing. Just like them.”

You hear him intake air sharply between clenched teeth as he pulls away from your chest. His grip is still painfully strong against your small frame, threatening to bruise and break. And as you look down at him, you can see a storm brewing in the swirls of his cool irises, torn by that violent pain and a deep sadness. You know he needs a place to transfer all that energy, to relieve himself of the burden of being alive.

You would gladly be his release if that’s what he needed from you.

Without allowing yourself the time to doubt, you slowly press your knees down against either side of his body, straddling him on the edge of the bed. You rest your rear down on top of his thighs, until you can feel his hardening length between your legs, firm and desperate. You watch as his eyes widen, his mouth parting slowly. But he doesn’t stop you. Instead, his hands falls down against your hips, to hold you steady above him. To encourage you further toward mutual destruction.

“Should we get you cleaned up?” You offer innocently. But before he can respond, you reach back to work with the zipper at the nape of his neck. You pull down slowly, cautiously, waiting for him to stop you. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans his head against your neck, breathing you in. Before long, his uniform becomes loose enough that you can run your hands beneath the soft fabric, pushing it away, off either side of his shoulders. His upper torso is left completely bear before you. He reeks of sweat, a masculine musk that only makes you want him more. Your fingers trail down the line of his chest, resting over the planes of his now exposed abs.

“Should I start the bath?” You ask in a whisper.

“No,” he says finally in a groan.

“Then tell me what you need.”

Rather than responding with words, his answer comes in the form his hands forcefully pushing the fabric of your dress away, hiking it up around your waist. You gasp as his palms firmly grip into the round globes of your ass, pulling you down onto his hardened cock, until your gasp becomes a moan, feeling him pressed against you.

“I need you,” he groans into the nape of your neck. “That’s what I need right now. But please, I can’t... I won’t. You need to leave.”

He shoves against you, urging you to get off of his lap but you grip your thighs tight around him, refusing to move.

“Is that what will help you?” You ask in a whimper. “Please, Steve, I want to help you.”

His grip tightens on your rear, pressing his fingertips deep into your tender flesh, likely leaving behind a trail of bruises to mark his ownership of your body.

“I’ll hurt you,” he warns in a guttural growl. Primal. Predatory. “I won’t be able to hold back...”

“Then hurt me if you have to, Steve,” you order. “Do it. That’s why I’m here. For you.”

He captures your chin between his fingertips and pulls you down until your lips are mere inches away from his own. His breath pools over you, warm and wet. His tongue licks your bottom lip until you begin to quiver.

“Is that the only reason you’re here?” He asks against your parted mouth. “To let me fuck you bloody?”

“No,” you answer with wide eyes as he thrusts up into you, enough that you can feel his need pressing into your core. “I’m here because... because I...”

He grabs a twisted cord of your hair in his fist, pulling hard enough to make you whine.

“Say it!” He commands, his blue eyes alit with anguish. “Say. It.”

“I love you, Steve!” You admit with watering eyes. “I love you...So please, if this is what you need, then fuck me. Fuck me.”

A moan escapes from your lips, just as he pulls you in, kissing you roughly, his hand falling down against the back of your neck as he releases your hair completely from his grasp. His tongue pushes aggressively past your lips, without asking for permission, without needing to. You can taste him against your own tongue as he moans into your mouth. Metallic, like the remnants of blood. You thrust your hips into him and with a growl, he grabs onto you and flips you around, pinning you down onto the bed.

He reaches underneath your dress, finding the band of your already soiled, wet panties, and yanks them down hard until you squirm out of the fabric upon his urging. Now bare, he grabs your ankles, forcing your legs apart, until you are left completely exposed to him. Spread wide. Your arousal glistening before him. You lie like that for some time, your heart racing as he gazes down at you whilst licking his lips slowly, methodically.

This is a side you rarely saw from the noble Avenger. The pure, innocent Steve Rogers. So often mocked for his chaste demeanor. So often ridiculed for his lack of impurity. But here he is wild and untamed, desperate to lay waste to your body and claim it as his property.

You are dripping with anticipation.

You turn your head toward the ceiling, closing your eyes, wondering how you got here. How you let it get this far. But you want him. You’ve wanted him for so long. And if this is how he needs to take you, so be it.

As you listen to him shifting out of the rest of his uniform, you know it’s inevitable, that soon you’ll feel the full force of his anger, the depth of his mourning. The manifestation of his loss through every violent gesture, beyond his good nature. You brace yourself for the pain of his girth that will no doubt be pushed inside of you at any moment. But instead, you suddenly feel the smooth caress of his tongue, lapping at your wetness. You gasp, sitting up straight as to gaze down at him, positioned between your parted legs. He gazed up at you, the tip of his tongue pressed firmly against your clit. You whimper, the sight alone bringing you toward your impending release.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been dying to taste you,” he groans, the vibrations of his husky voice pulsing into your core. “You are so fucking delicious, doll.”

“Language,” you tease before throwing your head back in ecstasy as his fingers thrust inside of you. He laughs against your lower lips, whilst his tongue continues to swirl around your swollen nub. You bury your fingers through his hair, pushing his face down further into your mound. You muffle a moan as you bite down hard on your bottom lip.

“You love this don’t you, dirty girl?” He smirks up at you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers. “I want you to cum all over my face, babygirl.”

His words are enough to send you over the edge, immediately following his command as you cum hard against his awaiting tongue. He groans as he laps up the provided wetness from your overly stimulated entrance, pulling his fingers free.

“Steve...” you exhale, your legs trembling against either side of his head.

“No, doll,” he growls, standing and positioning himself between your thighs. And can see your sleek still glistening off his lips. He licks them greedily with a devilish smile. “Not Steve.”

“Captain,” you correct. “Captain, please.”

“Please what? Good girls have to ask nicely for what they want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you growl, pulling him toward you by his hips until you can feel his hardened length rub up against your seeping entrance. “I want your cock inside me, Captain.”

“Good girl,” he hums in approval as he wraps his hand around his sex, positioning the tip just where you need him most. But without any warning, he shoves himself all the way inside of you, until you can feel the rough scruff of his groin rubbing up against your tender mound. You can feel your pussy stretch around him, the fit tighter than you expected. But he is a super solider and endowed with blessings beyond that of a normal man. You swallow down your protests, your hips screaming in pain, as you reach up to cradle his face once again in your hands. The course texture of his beard gathered beneath your palms.

You let your eyes meet, waiting for him to fuck you mercilessly, to fuck his pain away. But again you whisper your confession, “I love you,” causing him to still. He slowly pulls out of you, until his tip is just barely left inside. The full length of his cock coated with your creamy arousal. He stares down at you as he answers, speaking your name before he softly pushes his lips against yours.

“We wasted so much time, you and I,” He moans. “I should have told you sooner. I should have...”

“Told me what?” You press, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him closer, urging his cock further back inside of you with a deep satisfactory moan.

“That I love you.”

He thrusts fully back inside. You reach behind his back, to steady yourself as he picks up the pace. In and out. Full and empty. You throw your head back, lewd sounds escaping your parted lips.

“I love you,” he repeats, over and over again with each movement inside of you, adding, “Don’t leave me. Don’t. Leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure, gripping onto the hair at the base of his neck. You moan as he reaches down between your bodies to pleasure your clit even further. “I’ll be by your side. Everyday for the rest of our lives. No matter how short that may be.”

“This could be all we have,” he grunts with a full, violent thrust. “This could be our only chance.”

“Then make it count.”

He leans down and begins to roughly kiss your neck, sucking down hard until you scream his name.

“We don’t deserve this life,” he growls into your neck. “Perhaps we are meant to suffer.”

You shake your head but it isn’t enough. He needs you to feel his pain. To feel the stabbing regret of survival coursing deep within his veins. So he digs his teeth into your flesh with a force strong enough to cause a trickle of your blood to break free, falling past his lips. You gasp in pain but the sound fades quickly into wanton pleasure. His name coming out as a satisfied moan.

“We deserve to live,” You argue. “We deserve to love. To be happy. To have families of our own...”

“Families...,” he repeats, lifting his head from your neck to look deep into your eyes. “Do you want to have a family with me?”

Every thrust is bringing you closer toward a second release. You can’t think. You can only feel. Feel the pleasure he is giving you. You close your eyes, lost in the feeling of being one with the man you so desperately love.

The man you’d die for.

“Steve,” you moan, getting closer and closer. “You’re going to make me cum. Fuck... Captain, I need you to cum for me.”

“Do you want a family with me?” He asks again, this time more sternly, the heat of lingering anguish held against his tongue.

“Yes!” You scream as the beginning of your release plummets through you. “Cum inside me!”

His lips meet yours, where the taste of your own blood becomes laced around the corners of your mouth. And while you are distracted by his kiss, he rubs harder into your clit until you are screaming his name. He silences you with the full force of his mouth against yours, leaving you whimpering against his tongue, saliva caught between you. You attempt to breathe, riding the final waves of your climax.

He thrusts fully into you as you reach the end, kissing your womb with the tip of his cock. You can feel him release deep inside of you, in long, hot spurts that seep out of your entrance as soon as he withdraws with a deep grunt. He moves slowly, watching as his milky nectar trails down your thigh.

He rests against the side of your thigh as his other hand reaches down, gathering the remaining evidence of his release onto the tip of his fingers. He gradually pushing all the sticky residue back inside of your sopping cunt. You moan hopelessly, arching your hips against his hand.

“I want you to take all of it,” he growls. “Not a drop wasted.”

You fall heavy against the bed as he pulls away, clenching your legs tightly closed, your knees shaking. You turn away as the full weight of what you’d done lays down heavy upon your chest. The gravity of Steve’s emotions, and your own. His sorrow, his longing, his rage. But he leans down regardless, to kiss your exposed cheek. His thumb swipes carefully over the fresh wound he has inflicted upon your neck.

“I told you I’d hurt you,” he says with deep regret.

You turn slowly to look at him, his eyes glued to your new, red mark of ownership. You reach up and pull him by his shoulders to lie down beside you on the plush bed, so the two of you are lying side by side, facing each other. You reach out to caress his neck, to play with the scruff at the end of his chin

“You could have done worse,” you argue with a weak smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Did you mean what you said?” he asked in a low whisper. “Do you want to have... a family with me?”

Your hand stills. “I... I want a life with you, Steve,” you admit, unable to look at him directly, focusing your eyes on his lips instead, stained with blood. “Whatever that means. Whatever this world has in store for us... I want to be with you through it all. You aren’t alone.”

Those words seem to resonate deep inside of his heart as your hand settles there, just above the calming rhythm. And slowly, you swear you can feel him beginning to heal beneath your touch. A small, gentle smile curves up from the corners of his mouth.

“We will face the consequences of this new world together,” you say, before kissing him softly, letting your lips linger.

“Together,” he repeats against you. His heart steadies, his breathing slows and you watch with much relief as he gradually falls asleep beside you. Like he was so prone to do when life was simpler. But now, he is overwhelmed by the force of the day, the tragedy that it had been gifted upon the world. But as you stare at the rigid remains of the man you love, the First Avenger, the first to suffer, the last to be rewarded... you are hopeful that you will build a better tomorrow. That you’ll find a way to heal and repair. And that no matter what, you will stay by his side and face the horrors that may await you on the other side of the horizon.

 _Together_. 


End file.
